Harry of Potterhoe
by Daisy Pennifold
Summary: In which the epic masterpiece, Ivanhoe, is repopulated with Harry Potter characters and much mayhem ensues. Medieval Madness!


_A/N: Hi! I am writing this one for a myriad of reasons. First, I have had writer's block for the better part of a year now, and this requires no creation on my part whatsoever – just a merging of plot (Sir Walter Scott's) and characterization (Ms. Rowling's)._

_Secondly, I love Ivanhoe, but I don't think it's widely read anymore. It was really the first well-known historical romance, and is delightful in its ludicrous plot and all-around cheesy-ness. I'm hoping others will try it once they read this version. _

_Finally, every time I think about writing this, I start giggling to myself, so I figure it will be a lot of fun. Long, too, although I will combine chapters whenever possible. And now, on with our saga:_

**HARRY OF POTTERHOE **

_A/N Again: By the way, characterization is more important to me than canon in this story, because it is **completely** AU. I chose the Harry Potter characters I think fit the Ivanhoe characters best, so things will get a little crazy - family members won't always be related, etc. _

_It's kind of like our friends from the Potterverse are acting out the story of Ivanhoe for us. Instead of Normans and Saxons, we have pure-bloods (Slytherins, to make it easier) and muggle-borns and their supporters (Gryffindors, for lack of a better term). And NOW, on with our saga:_

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…No, wrong story. Wait, let me try again…

THE PLACE: SUMERIA… No, that's not it either… Ah, here we go!

...Three crimson haired young men appeared in the dark and ancient forest at sundown, peering up at the sky at the sounds of an approaching storm. The youngest was dressed in simple browns and greys, a plain bronze ring surrounding his long neck and glinting in the fading light. The other boys were identical to one another, but dressed in the brightly coloured garb of jesters. Their neck rings were also bronze, but of a higher sheen, and inscribed with their names, and that of their master's, James the Gryffindor. All three also carried small scripts attached to their belt, denoting to whom they belonged.

"Why are you two here, anyway?" The drably clad one asked.

"Why, Ronald, as if we'd let you go out in to the big dark scary forest all alone!"

"Fred's right, Won-Won. We wouldn't want you having nightmares!"

"Besides, Sir James won't need us until supper anyway."

"Well, are you going to help me herd the nifflers back home, or not?" Ron started jingling coins, and from the dark undergrowth scuffling sounds could be heard approaching the young men.

"Certainly not. It's time you learned some responsibility," the one called Fred said sagely, while his twin, George, nodded in a very condescending manner.

"After all, Ron, we do our work without your help, don't we?"

"Call that work!" Ron exclaimed, while wrestling a niffler out of the crook of a tree, where a magpie's nest glinted with treasure. "I've got that, now come down." He swept the contents of the nest into his bag, and turned to his older brothers once more. "All you do is fool around all day!"

"Well, Ron," George said slowly, as if to a small child, "We're fools. That's what we do, you see. It's our job."

"We can't help it if you're dull as dry toast and forced to herd nifflers. The important thing is you do your part. Can't let the Slytherins win, you know. We're all cogs in a wheel."

"You two are so full of – Oi! Get back here, you!" While most of the nifflers were contentedly sniffling the mock-Galleons Ron had dropped for them (tied to strings attached to Ron's belt, the nifflers would happily follow the coins anywhere), one had sensed bigger game afoot, and trotted cheerfully into the road. Ron scrambled into the bushes after it, breaking through onto the road with a huff and grabbing the little creature by the scruff of his black furry neck just in time to get him out of the way of a group of horsemen.

Ron looked up and stifled a groan at the men peering down at him from their winged Aethonan horses. Two men were in the lead, with various servants and attaches. The first was a man of two score years or so, once athletic but now rather fat, with a jolly look on his face. He wore the rich purple robes of the Ministry, but instead of the rather simple cut and common cloth most Ministry wizards were accustomed to, this man wore robes of velvet, trimmed in fur, and he had jewels on every possible part of him, including a small diamond on the tip of his nose.

His companion was at least twenty years younger, about the age of Ron, Fred and George, with white-blond hair pulled severely back from his tanned, stern face. He sat tall in the saddle and wore grey robes with a dark green tunic over all, upon which was embroidered the silver serpent of the Slytherin warriors.

Fred and George, who had followed the nifflers, who had followed the coins attached to Ron's belt, arrived in the road and scowled at the Slytherin man looking down at them with the utmost contempt.

"Gryffindors," the blond man drawled. "Crawling in the dirt. How fitting."

"Now, now, Draco, be still! Perhaps these men can help us. Young man," the purple-robed man stood in his seat and spoke slowly to Ron, who was just getting up and brushing himself off, "Do you know which road to take to get to Godric's Hollow? We're looking for a night's rest, and James the Gryffindor's castle is in these parts, I know."

"Wouldn't you rather stay with other Ministry folk? The Ministry Headquarters at Albemarle aren't far off. Only another hour's ride," piped up Fred.

George added, "We know you Ministry lords are accustomed to simple fare and humble lodgings. We wouldn't want you to feel that you were taking advantage of your constituency, taking hospitality when they already pay for the food and lodging at your headquarters."

Draco's eyes flashed malevolently, but his companion spoke before he could.

"Nonsense! I am Lord Ludo, well known in these parts. I know James the Gryffindor sets a good table, and will gladly enjoy our company for an evening. How else will I get to know my people, if I don't spend time with them, after all?" Ludo peered down, beaming, at the three, who were turning beet-faced with anger at his hypocrisy and condescension. At his side, Draco de Mal-Foi let out a small laugh.

"Amazing, isn't it, Ludo? Their Gryffindor spirits run so deep that they turn their faces as red as their hair. Where is the home of James the Gryffindor, churl?" He said sharply, staring at Ron.

Ron glared back at him defiantly. "Even for all the gold in Gringotts, I wouldn't tell you," he said, spitting at the feet of the proud chestnut horse before him.

"You common Gryffindor scum-" Draco started to dismount from behind the wings of his horse, but a hand on his elbow kept him in his saddle. "Draco, it will do no good to harm one of the servants of the man with whom we wish to reside tonight. You two," He continued, looking at Fred and George, "appear to be a bit more intelligent than this scruffy-looking niffler-herder, for all that you are fools. Where is the home of James the Gryffindor?"

"Quite right, sir. His home lay that way," said George, pointing northeast. Fred, at the same time, pointed to the road going south. "Or is it this way?" George said, scratching his head and pointing west. Fred helpfully pointed in the direction from which the riding party had flown. George looked even more confused, and pointed east. "Er, that way, maybe?" Fred pointed straight down, and began scrabbling in the dirt as if he was going to dig his way to the manor.

"Idiots!" Draco de Mal-Foi exclaimed, whipping at them with his quirt as he galloped straight ahead, then launched into the air on the back of his warhorse, following from the air the most well-traveled road out of the crossroads. Ludo shook his head darkly at them and followed, with the servants and baggage horses bringing up the rear. The three young men fell about laughing behind them.

"Good job we made of that, huh? They'll never find Godric's Hollow at the rate they're going."

"Not unless they meet someone else that will tell them the right direction. Not everyone is as, er- confused as you two are."

"C'mon, Ronnie. What are the odds of that happening? Let's go home." They did, with the coins skipping in the dust behind Ron as the happy nifflers trotted behind the three.

Twenty minutes later, Draco's horse touched down in a glade that the road passed through, followed by Ludo and their entourage. "Those bloody fools could have at least given us the right direction in which to travel! We'll never get to Godric's Hollow before dark."

"We needn't stay there at all, you know. There are other places, as the fools mentioned."

"Even if it wasn't for this storm, I would want to stay there, thanks to you. I've been fighting for years now, away in the Middle East, attempting to recover the Ancient Sorting Hat, which will for once and all prove the superiority of the Slytherins over these disgusting Gryffindor scum. I haven't seen a woman in three years, and from your accounts, the Lady Ginevra is the most beautiful woman in all of England. And she better be, as I will be forced to endure Gryffindor hospitality in order to make her acquaintance."

"Oh, she is, Draco! I'd wager my nose on it," He smiled, tapping the diamond studded tip of the appendage in question.

"I'll take that wager, friend. If she is, however, the Mal-Foi cellar is yours for perusal. I believe Chian is your drink of choice?"

"Oh indeed!" exclaimed Ludo, his eyes lighting up at the thought of the Mal-Foi wine cellar, famous throughout the land. "Here, Draco, who is coming through the dusk to greet us?"

"Looks like a pilgrim," said Draco, squinting. "One of those loathsome parasites who followed us to Istanbul and beyond, spouting the equality between Slytherins and Gryffindors, and assuring any who would listen that the hat, when found, would back up their claims. Fools," he spat. "As if I would risk my life for _that._"

"Well met, pilgrim!" Ludo called out. The man, tall with green eyes, drew his hood more firmly over his face, hiding his features from the party.

"Far from friendly fires, my Slytherin friends," the pilgrim replied, looking at the two. "Are you seeking respite from the impending storm?"

"Most certainly. We had met with three red heads not an half-hour ago, but we seem to have misunderstood their directions, as we have been looking for the home of James the Gryffindor to pass the night."

Draco was sure he saw a grin flash across the pilgrim's face for a moment, but it was gone when he replied to Ludo, "I am going there myself, Lord. If you would care to follow, it's actually not far. The trees are quite large surrounding it, though; you will never see it from the air. I hope your steeds will condescend to remain on the ground? It isn't a long trip."

"Very well, then, lead on, Pilgrim," Ludo replied. The riding party disappeared into the dark forest behind the steps of the pilgrim, who trod through the ominous trees as if he had always lived among them, certain of his direction.

_A/N: Stay tuned for next time, when we learn more about the history of Gryffindor/Slytherin animosity, discover the identity of the mysterious pilgrim (hmmm…that's a tough one), see the lovely Lady Ginevra, James the Gryffindor, and some other old friends. It gets good, my friends! Soap Opera Extroardinaire!_

_Also, ten points to your house if you caught the "Star Wars" reference!_


End file.
